


offering

by nastyboy



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 08:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13853760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastyboy/pseuds/nastyboy
Summary: Tobirama stares into the mirror, but it isn’t himself looking back.orTobirama offers himself up to a god.





	offering

Tobirama stares into the mirror, but it isn’t himself looking back.

There is white underneath his eyes with black drawn in sharp lashes bracketing it. It makes his eyes look bigger, covering the bags there and adding a youth to his face that hasn’t been there in years. His cheeks are tinted pink, with embarrassment and powder, and it makes him look healthily rosy as if he wasn’t living dead from the taxes of war. His skin was already smooth, but the lotion that had been massaged in made it touch-ably soft and gave him a scent like fresh air and sea salt. His eyelids were a blue so dark it looked like the night sky, though when he turned his head just right the color shimmered with silver flecks. Lastly, his lips were painted a potent crimson, something that managed to look saccharine and deadly all in the same moment. It matched his markings perfectly.

He looks nothing like his usual self, but the longer he looks the more of his own face he can see in this vision of beauty. He doesn’t look bad, per se. Were this any other occasion, Tobirama wouldn’t mind how he looked at all; he might even be excited to get to dress up for once. A knock on the door steals him away from his reverie.

“Come in.” He says, and it’s odd to watch pretty, red lips move while his own disinterested voice greets his ears.

It’s Hashirama who enters, and Tobirama is somehow relieved and embarrassed at the same time. He doesn’t want his brother to see him like this, but he also thankful that it’s only his brother seeing him like this. Hashirama doesn’t say anything. He just stares, tracing the lines of Tobirama’s face in the mirror with his brows pulled in a sorrowful pout. Tobirama stands from the vanity, turning to face his brother fully as he does so. Hashirama frowns lightly in thought. 

“It suits you. You look so much like Mom,” he can only nod in response so Hashirama continues, “It’s why no one has ever believed we’re siblings.”

“None of us ever really looked alike. Itama with his two-toned hair, Kawarama with his freckles.” Tobirama stares into the floor, thoughts of their brothers strengthening his resolve.

“I know, but you and I have always looked the most different.” Hashirama pauses. “Are you— are you sure about this? You don’t have to—”

“I will not let more of us die when there is something to be done about it.”

“Yes, but I’m sure we could find another way. We could try out new strategies. We’ll pull back to a stronghold, let them attack us, and pick them off as they come. We can send Tōka with her men across enemy lines, take them out from the inside. We can—”

“Stop, Hashirama. You know that it is a losing battle without a god on our side.”

“Then why don’t you let me—”

“You have the village and, more importantly, Mito to think about. All I have is my research. Just let me do this, let me help in this way. Beside look at all this work I put in, it would be a shame to let it go to waste, hm?” Tobirama pastes what he hopes is a reassuring smile on his face, doing a little turn on his heel to make Hashirama laugh. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and he knows that Hashirama can see that, but Hashirama holds his tongue and give him a small smile, moving in to hug Tobirama. Tobirama accepts the embrace, leaning into his brother’s warmth. It might be the last hug he’ll ever get from Hashirama. His heart constricts when he realizes this might be the last time he sees his brother, let alone hugs him. He clenches his fists in Hashirama’s shirt, releasing a long, shuddering breath as he pulls him just a tiny bit closer. When Tobirama steps back his face is carefully blank. He distracts himself with the thin robe draped over him, adjusting it even though it falls comfortably. He send Hashirama another faked smile before turning back to the vanity. He picks up the simple silver circlet dangling with jewels there, sliding it into place. It feels like a lighter, smaller version of his happuri with the way the chains of sapphires brush his cheeks.

“Now, I must go.” 

 

With one last farewell to Hashirama and a promise to give Mito and Tōka hugs, Tobirama ascends the steps carved into the mountain overlooking Konoha. The journey is just long enough that the sun is drooping low when he reaches the summit, casting tall, tall shadows across the ground. It makes the bulky temple look more menacing, with the darkness casting such inky shadows on the stones. The temple hasn’t been touched in Tobirama’s lifetime and Tobirama can easily tell that it has seen better days as he approaches, but it stands proud, looking as if someone has been regularly cleaning and keeping it. The doors are heavy stone, inlaid with jeweled murals, and they swing open with a hefty push. As the door falls shut behind him, Tobirama is thankful for the torch he had brought, he’s sure he would be blind without it. He pads around the room, lighting lamps as he finds them. The stone is cold under his bare feet, and the chill of night crisping the air makes Tobirama wishing the ceremonial robe was thicker. Or that he was allowed to wear something underneath. 

Tobirama finds a stone dais against the furthest wall from the door; the offering circle. It is a simple raised circle with a low wall surrounding it. There is an entrance at the front of the dais, and tall candles in ornate dishes strewn about the tiny wall. Tobirama takes the time to light each of them, convincing himself that he isn’t stalling, just being thorough. Once he has lit all of the candles Tobirama waves out the torch, settling it off to the side. He seats himself in the center of the dais, his legs folded up underneath himself, and his hands gathered in his lap. Tobirama takes a breath to center himself, before turning his face up to the ceiling.

“Madara, God of War, Wrath, and Hearth, I call upon thee.”

In the wake of Tobirama’s booming words the room is utterly still. Tobirama keeps his head up, gaze settled on the dome of the roof. He feels panic seep into his veins because he can’t fail at this. Tobirama has already felt helpless in this war, and doing this now was a way to turn that helplessness into something useful. He can’t fail this. It had taken so long to convince Hashirama to let him try it in the first place. He can’t fail this now. 

Before Tobirama can spiral into the depths of his emotions, the crackling of the lit torches and the candles roars louder. It’s almost deafening, and Tobirama’s eyes widen when he sees the flames jump higher and higher all around the room until they’re shine in gleaming off the metal laid in the images on the ceiling. They twist and roil into blazing infernos all on their own before converging towards the middle of the room. They curl together, weaving into a beautiful tornado of bittersweets and carmine and gold. The room flickers in and out of stark shadows, but Tobirama cannot take his eyes off the disaster in front of him. The flames wind tighter, slowly shaping into a human figure. They burst outwards, flaring and fading so quickly that Tobirama’s pupils struggle to catch up. The room stays lit well, much better than the dim light the torches and candles had provided before. Tobirama doesn’t understand where the light is coming from until his eyes adjust from the previous spectacle. He can see the figure before him is the source of the glowing light and the near stifling warmth. They are suffuse with a gorgeous golden glow, not unlike the yellowed flicker of firelight.

As Tobirama’s eyes adjust further he can make out menacing, ruby eyes staring down at him from a handsome face framed with messy, obsidian-spun hair. They’re wearing cloth darker than the blackest night, and the armored plates over it are a deep red. Despite himself Tobirama can feel his lips part in awe of the literal god before him. His mind feels frustratingly blank in the face of this man. He shuts his eyes tight, shaking his head to clear it somewhat. When he opens them, the god is smirking down at him. It makes Tobirama’s blood boil in his veins, but Tobirama can’t tell if it’s in a good way or a bad one. 

“Why have you called upon me, mortal?” Madara growls, voice low and threatening. He strides closer and the metals of his armor shiver in a reflection of the inferno Tobirama saw earlier, catching Tobirama’s gaze effortlessly. Tobirama feels his skin crawl with agitation at being referred to as a mortal when the words registers, but he lets it wash from him, instead straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin arrogantly.

“I am Senju Tobirama. My people fight a war, and we are in need of a God’s favor. Your favor.”

“You ask my favor, yet you have brought me nothing. You sit on the offering dais, but there is nothing in your hands, and the clothes on my back are far superior to yours.” Madara sashays towards Tobirama like a predator assessing prey. “Why should I give anything to you?” Cavalier onyx meets defiant crimson. Madara tracks a circle around Tobirama, letting his eyes rove along Tobirama’s painted face, the silver hair falling softly over his forehead, the simple circlet, the white robe with the beautiful blue and gold embroidery. Tobirama eyes stay locked with his, back twisting in a beautiful curve to face Madara as the deity stops behind him. Madara watches him for a moment, eyes slipping along Tobirama’s form again. Glee shoots through Tobirama as he watches Madara’s eyes follow the arch of his spine before snapping back to his face. Tobirama does not turn his body to follow Madara’s movements as he walks back around the front of the dais, simply turns his head slowly to make eye contact again. “Why should someone as powerful as me bother with the likes of you?”

“Because we have gifts to offer.” Tobirama can feel heat along his form as Madara grows closer. He stops a little over an arm’s length away.

“Such as?”

“Jewels, harvests, knowledge—” Tobirama is startled as Madara lets out a belly-deep laugh, aura shimmering as his head tosses back. His voice is harsh when he speaks again.

“I am not my brother; I do not care for things such as that. Have you nothing more to offer?” 

Instead of responding Tobirama pushes purposefully to his feet, keeping his back towards Madara. His hands tremble over the ties holding the robes shut, but he makes himself take a deep breath, thinking of war-torn Konoha resting below. His hands are quick once he’s made his mind up, and he slides the fabric off his shoulders to gather in his elbows, exposing most of his back to the air. He glances over his shoulder coyly, tilting his lips in a practiced smirk as he lets the robe drop from his person. It pools at his feet, leaving him nude in the middle of the temple, backlit by candlelight and covered in the wash of warmth radiating from Madara.

“Myself.” Tobirama feels satisfaction flow through him at the strangled sound Madara makes, even as he struggles to make his motions less stilted and more sexy. He turns with measured steps, crossing the few feet between them, and draping himself over Madara as casually as possible. He leans forward so there is but a scant inch between their bodies. “I offer my mind, my body and my servitude to you in return for your blessing, Madara.”

Madara’s eyes are wide with surprise, and he seems to be very purposefully keeping his eyes away from Tobirama’s body. His voice is gruff when he finally speaks, “Put your clothes back on.”

Tobirama’s blood turns icy with a mixture of relief and despair. As much as he is against using his body to get his way, this is not the time for it to fail. His people will die if Madara does not accept him. Desperate anger heats his blood in a wave. He slides one hand to rest on Madara’s chest, the other tangling in Madara’s wild locks to tilt their lips closer. “Have I done something wrong? Am I not to your liking?”

“God, no,” Madara says, putting some breathing room between them, “You are very…” Madara stops talking as his eye trail downwards, taking in miles of pale skin and sparse, light hair. He clears his throat, pointedly pulling his eyes up. “You are very suitable, but I…” he shakes his head, meeting Tobirama’s eyes with a strange determination. “No matter, I will help your people.”

Tobirama’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t complain,“That’s… Thank you. How are you planning to help us?”

“However is needed.” Madara’s gaze trails over Tobirama’s features. “Do you… do you do this often?”

“What? Ask gods for their favour?”

Madara’s eyes flicker down to where Tobirama’s bare chest is pressed close to his own, “Sure.”

“No, you’re the first.”

“Good.” He hums with blatant possession in Madara’s voice caresses down Tobirama’s spine, and he’s suddenly very aware of Madara’s wide hands on his hips. He brushes them off, clearing his throat and walking back to the dais for his robe. When Tobirama bends to get it another strangled sound leaves Madara. He doesn’t immediately straighten, just twists a bit so he can gaze at Madara. Madara’s eyes meet his, and the deity panics the tiniest bit, whirling around so he isn’t facing Tobirama anymore. Tobirama rolls his eyes, straightening and donning his robe again.

“What now?” Madara peeks over his shoulder, turning fully when he sees that Tobirama is dressed again.

“I assume you are in dire need of my help,” Tobirama nods, “then take me to your pitiful excuse for a general.”


End file.
